Something felt a little off there. Something began, after so many years, to feel not-quite-right.

It was lovely and it was fun and it was, in a way, very much mine. But perhaps that was the problem. It was a little too comfortable, a little too familiar, a little too much of me in it and it in me. So there I sat, wading through shallow bits of pleasure and beauty and homey-ness. But even at home you don't always belong. Rather, you don't always belong at home.

I left for a while, and I wanted so desperately to get back. To have familiarity around me, because I couldn't find it within myself. I recognized the name they used to address me by. "I remember her," I would say to myself, dim-eyed, shrunken and dark inside a faux shell.

Inward a stranger dwelt, weeping for all that once was, all that could have been. Playing a part, I crafted a mask and clung to a hope that if I could only get back there, things would be alright. I could hide, I could heal, and I could escape.

And yet I am not there. I am here.

Dumped in an ocean of foreign customs and strange accents, sports teams I don't care about and street names I don't recognize, I made no effort to rise. I relished the sensation of sinking, thoroughly bored and full of disdain. Yawning, I sat and watched the water reach my mouth, my nose, my eyes. Air? I have no need for air. I have had enough of that.

But instinct, I've found, is stronger than arrogance. Gulping water laced with pride, my flailing arms broke through the all-too-familiar surface. Somehow, I found footing in deep water.

It isn't home, but I belong.

I wanted to try reading my stuff, so you can hear how it sounds to me. Nifty, eh?

©e.gosney 2014


As more and more of my friends get engaged, have children, buy houses, travel around the world, go to great concerts, create amazing things, I find my smile growing wider and wider. Somehow, the jealousy and frustration and half-hearted congratulations (if I expressed any at all) of my past years that so often accompianied such events have morphed into this inexplicable happiness at the sight of someone elses happiness.

How'd that happen, right?

And then, whether they want to share it or not, I grab some of that happiness for myself.

Now, don't get me wrong, I still find myself, at times, muttering, "What the --? Her?! SHE got engaged? What the crap am I doing wrong?!" and "Seriously? Another picture of your kid and your dog? Enough already."

Hey, nobody's perfect.

Well, except that one family. They are. Damn them.

It's really quite nice, to be more filled with joy at the news of other's successes rather than that twang of bitterness or regret. It's somehow relieving, and freeing. It's not just an emotional response, but something that physically swells inside me, bursting sparkles and sunshine out of my ears and mouth.

Wait. No. That's not physically what happens. Creepy.

But it is freeing, just the same.

You know how, when you're at a festival and the old-man band starts playing some country music and a few people start clapping along with the rhythm, and you want to, too, but feel kinda foolish, so you don't, and instead sit there tapping your foot like all the other cool kids? And then there are the 80-year-old couples who are grinning from ear to ear, clapping like there's no tomorrow (and for them, well, there might not be. HA! I kid, I kid.) And you see people smiling at them, the cool kids are even smiling at them. Then the little kids start dancing and you say to yourself, "Man, that looks like fun." And really you're wishing YOU could be one of those little kids or that 80-year-old, because they're just having fun. They are enjoying life. They're soaking it in.

With all the big news I hear from friends and family, somehow I've started to become the clapping 80-year-old, just happy. And not ashamed to be happy.

Maybe it has something to do with the satisfaction I have in my own life, as "uneventful" as it is. Maybe it's part of getting older. I don't know, but it's fan-freaking-tastic.

"Joys divided are increased" --Josiah Gilbert Holland

These are totally random, but fun. This was the day before I entered the MTC (Feb. 2013). Hayden has a Sonic Screwdriver. Love this kid.